


Stay

by kaydeejayde



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29308110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaydeejayde/pseuds/kaydeejayde
Summary: Remus Lupin remembers. He remembers everything in such vivid detail so that when he's alone on nights like tonight, the memories pull at his insides in a way which is both euphoric and simply too painful to bear. He remembers when he's alone in his office late at night, sorting through stacks of parchment. He remembers when he's in his chambers, sitting at the window unable to sleep. He remembers when he's surrounded by people he's known for what feels like his entire life, who still manage to feel like strangers because they're notthem.They're not James, or Lily, or Peter.Sirius.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 6





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Harry Potter fic on AO3 and my first Harry Potter fic since probably 2009. I've recently come back to the fandom and I'm so in awe of all the amazing authors I've been reading. I hope I've done this wonderful pairing justice.

Remus Lupin remembers. 

He remembers everything in such vivid detail so that when he's alone on nights like tonight, the memories pull at his insides in a way which is both euphoric and simply too painful to bear. He remembers when he's alone in his office late at night, sorting through stacks of parchment. He remembers when he's in his chambers, sitting at the window unable to sleep. He remembers when he's surrounded by people he's known for what feels like his entire life, who still manage to feel like strangers because they're not _them_.

They're not James, or Lily, or Peter. 

_Sirius_. 

He knows that he shouldn't think about him, of all people, the way he does, but Sirius is so undeniably a part of the greatest memories he has that if he's to remember the others at all, he has to remember _him_ , too. 

So, he loses himself, lets himself slip into the cracks between memories where he can rest a while and leave the pain, the boredom, the worry, and the aching loneliness behind. 

He remembers the Gryffindor common room and the crackle of the fireplace in front of which they all sat, night after night, never tiring of one another's company. James with an arm around Lily so that she could rest her head comfortably on his shoulder. Peter on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. Sirius curled up in the armchair with his legs tucked underneath him, and Remus on the other end of the couch, Lily's sock-covered feet in his lap. The sound of their laughter echoes in his memory often, as clear as though it had happened yesterday, yet so painfully far away. 

He remembers the feeling of the sun on his face as he tilted it back to look up at the vast blue sky, sitting by the lake, trying to study but in reality just wasting an afternoon in the best way possible. James was always chasing around the snitch he'd stolen from the Ravenclaw seeker when she'd laughed at a particularly humiliating fall from his broom. He remembers the sound of James' voice as he said his name, the sparkle of pride in Peter's eyes as they discussed a particularly well carried-out prank, the fierce caring in Lily's eyes when she realised how close it was to a full moon, and the way her cold fingertips had brushed over the raised scars on his hands as they sat together in the afternoon warmth. 

He remembers the distinctly Sirius smell that had almost knocked him off his feet as he'd leaned over the bubbling cauldron of Amortentia in potions class, and the way that Sirius had smirked at him from the other side of the classroom. He remembers how his fingers had felt laced through his own, just briefly as they'd filed out of the potions classroom in the fray of other students, a gesture unnoticed by anyone else, the way his chest had felt against his own when they'd finally gotten a moment to themselves later on that day. Mostly though, he remembers the way Sirius' voice had sounded as he breathed his name -- _Remus…_ \-- and it makes him ache. 

With a sigh, Remus shoves the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, trying to chase away the thoughts that are threatening to take over. He knows what comes next and he's familiar with the sharp ache that will inevitably settle in his chest if he lets himself continue down that particular path inside of his mind. He's been there before. That ache has been a fairly constant companion ever since that night twelve years ago, the last time he'd seen --

_Sirius._

The heat that had radiated from his skin that last time they'd seen one another still burns at Remus' skin now, all of these long years later, from his neck to his navel, the length of where they'd been pressed together through layers of clothing, the heady smell of cigarette smoke and day-old cologne still makes his head spin. He often thinks back on that day, wishes he'd known it would be the last time. Instead of a thinly veiled insult said in affectionate jest, his last words would have been to make sure that Sirius knew how loved he was, how much he meant, how much the world just wouldn't be the same without him. And it isn't the same. Even now, knowing what he does, knowing what Sirius did, how he betrayed _everyone_ , Remus still wishes they could have parted ways differently. 

His breath hurts as it leaves his chest, his chest heaves and he lurches to his feet, leaning over his desk to sweep all of the third years' papers he'd been reading over into a pile so that he doesn't curse himself in the morning for being so messy, and he extinguishes the lights of his office. The soft glow of the moon through the window is infuriating, but it allows him to avoid falling over on his way to his chamber. 

A sharp sound behind him causes him to flinch and out of old habit, Remus' fingers seek the smooth of the handle of his wand and curl around it as he spins around, letting out a sharp breath almost involuntarily. Memories rush back to him, memories of the first war, when no place was safe. He resists the urge to curl in on himself, to raise his arms above his head and shield himself from whatever might be standing in front of him. 

When he composes himself and his eyes manage to focus on the scene in front of him, he feels like he can barely breathe. There, standing in his office, in front of the smouldering fireplace with his arms wrapped protectively around himself, staring at him like a frightened animal, body nothing but skin on skeleton, is Sirius Black. 

All at once, over a decade's worth of emotion explodes inside of him. He didn't know he had the capacity to feel so much inside of him, especially after… _everything_ , but beating inside of his chest, flowing through his veins is fury, devastating sadness, confusion, unrequited love and he doesn't know what to do with it all so instead of using the wand clutched in his shaking hand to deal with the escaped prisoner standing before him, it falls to the floor with an empty clatter, and he rushes to Sirius, arms outstretched. 

Even without any words being exchanged, the moment Remus holds Sirius in his arms, holds him tightly against his chest, he feels like he is returning home and he realises that nothing has felt so right in such a long time. Sirius is thin and weak and a shell of the man who once would have called him a _fucking nancy, Remus_ for the tears wetting his cheeks, but he's undoubtedly Sirius. Somewhere, behind those haunted, guarded grey eyes, is the man that Remus never, _ever_ stopped loving. 

Sirius is tense in his grip as he's never been before. It stings a little, but he pushes those feelings down and focuses on the way that the other man's chest expands as he breathes, the way his breath is warm on his skin through Remus' thin shirt, how he almost vibrates and Remus wonders whether he's trying to figure out the best way to get out of a situation he's sure Sirius is reconsidering. 

"Sirius," Remus murmurs against the side of his face, lips moving against bruised, dirty, stubbled skin, "My Sirius… You're safe…" 

With those words, Sirius relaxes. Not entirely -- his entire being still trembles -- but he seems to melt against the slightly taller man, allowing himself to be held, murmured to, loved.

Of course, the werewolf hasn't forgotten the betrayal of James and Lily, of the entire wizarding world, but there will be time for questions and Remus knows that he'll eventually have to turn Sirius over to the authorities or risk being locked up himself. 

For now though, he tries to forget. 

Somehow, and he isn't entirely sure how, Remus manages to get Sirius down the stairs, across the classroom and into the small chamber which acts as a foyer to his quarters, and it's there that Sirius falls to the ground, his palms flat on the worn stone floor, his knees collapsed underneath him. His entire body trembles minutely with the effort, but his shoulders heave. He makes no sound, but without even being able to see his face, Remus can picture it, the way Sirius' face contorts, his grey eyes empty and full of fear, longing, sorrow, all of the things that he himself feels too, in his office, late at night when there are no more scrolls left to mark, no students to distract him. 

His heart breaks all over again as he leans protectively over his former friend, hoping that the weight of his body can provide some comfort, like a shield. 

"Oh, Pads," he says as gently as he can muster though he's _tired_ , carding his fingers through Sirius' matted hair. The nickname feels foreign in his mouth but it's so comforting. "Come on now, let's get you comfortable." 

Remus heaves him to his feet, and walks slowly towards the bathroom, his arm under Sirius' arms to keep him upright. It's jarring, feeling his bones pressing against his own flesh. It's such a stark change from the strong, muscled body he'd once run his hands all over, his skin now so pale and sallow, without the glow that used to emanate from him. 

As Remus kicks the faucet on though, and water begins to fill the claw-foot tub, Sirius finally looks at him and for a moment, he can't breathe. 

_There he is,_ Remus thinks to himself, his heart hammering inside of his chest, _There's my Sirius._

Grey eyes stare into his own green ones, and behind all of the pain that is guarding there, is the spark that had made Sirius so very easy to fall in love with, all of those years ago. Remus supresses a smile, figuring that it isn't really the time for displays of happiness. 

He sets to stripping Sirius of his Azkaban-provided uniform, discarding it in the corner and muttering a wandless cleaning spell over it under his breath. There's nothing sensual about the naked form standing in front of him. Not even the memories that threaten to derail him from his task can break his focus from where he knows it needs to be: On making sure that Sirius is alright, at least physically. He knows that there's a war being waged inside of him, memories that no man should have to hold onto playing over and over in his mind and the fact that the formerly chatty Sirius Black hasn't yet said a word to him tells Remus all that he needs to know. Sure, Remus would like nothing more than to take Sirius to bed, and curl around him and hold him and show him that he'll protect him, go to the ends of the earth for him, move mountains for him, but it isn't a need for intimacy that sparks that desire, it's the same possessive protectiveness that he's always felt towards him. 

Still, Sirius tries his hardest to cover his body, his scars, the bruises, the identification tattoos that pepper his flesh with his thin arms. Of course, Remus can see everything. Along with the harsh, spidery tattoos of numbers and runes on his neck, chest and arms from the prison, he is injured as well. Remus breathes out slowly through his nose, desperately trying to keep the shock from showing on his face. It's no wonder Sirius is struggling to breathe with the deep purple bruise that wraps all the way around one side of his body, from his sternum to his shoulder blade. Thick scars not unlike his own snake down one arm and there are fresh cuts which slice across his back. He tries not to think about the horror that he would have had to go through to get those marks, knowing he'll be unable to contain his anger that someone or something would dare to do such monstrous things to his friend. 

Remus swallows down a sob. Seeing Sirius, _his Sirius_ , like that, silent, injured, broken, is maybe the hardest thing he's ever had to do. The Sirius he remembers is strong, outspoken, more than a little arrogant, but intensely loyal. Anger wells inside of him. What an injustice, a fucking injustice that one of the best people Remus has ever known --

_Oh._

It hits him in the same unexpected way that so-very-Sirius smell had hit him coming from the cauldron of Amortentia. Sudden, like a hex right to the centre of his chest. Instead of the warmth he'd felt back then though, a chill spreads from Remus' chest, all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. 

Somewhere deep down, he wonders how Sirius could have betrayed their friends. _Their_ James, _their_ Lily. _Harry_ , the boy Remus is coming to love almost like a son of his own. He almost doesn't believe it. The lunatic, the mad man, the dangerous murderer that the Prophet had portrayed is the furthest from the broken man cowering before him. Remus feels like if he so much as breathed on him, he'd fall apart, shatter into shards on the floor. 

Blinking back the sting of exhaustion from his eyes, he helps Sirius into the tub, training his eyes on the ripples in the steaming water. As he lowers himself in, Sirius lets out a hiss -- involuntary, Remus suspects -- and winces, and Remus can't help but to reach out his hand to touch his shoulder. He flinches, but eventually relaxes into the contact, just slightly. 

Remus' mother had always told him that magic was no substitute for a long bath, and it is with that thought in mind that he sits on the edge of the tub, pouring goblet after goblet of water gently down Sirius' back and chest, staring down at the back of his head. It's difficult to keep his hands to himself. He knows that once, just his touch would provide endless comfort to Sirius. He remembers vividly bathing with him in the prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts, the contented murmurs that had spilled from his lips, the small sighs that he'd loved so perfectly. Now though, he isn't sure his touch would be comforting. He's conscious of overwhelming him. He realises how much courage and trust it would have taken for Sirius to come to him, and the last thing he wants is to scare him away.

As he reaches across the tub for a bottle of conditioner he only uses monthly, Sirius flinches, wrapping his arms around his knees in front of him, and guilt rips at Remus' chest, and he knows he's done the right thing, keeping his hands to himself. 

_Slowly, no sudden movements,_ he thinks to himself, _He's been through hell._

"I'm sorry, my love," Remus whispers, the old endearments slipping so perfectly off his tongue. He pours out some of the lilac coloured paste into his hands, and sets about detangling Sirius' hair with the comb he keeps by the tub for doing the same to his own hair after the full moon. At the sound of his voice, Sirius seems to relax further, and so as Remus works on the matted hair -- more grey than black these days -- he talks. Nonsense, mostly, about meaningless news stories he's read in the Quibbler, the weather, his encounter with a boggart in one of their old favourite secret passageways -- _Remember the one, Moony? Behind that tapestry in the dungeons?_. 

"I love teaching, Padfoot," the words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them, leaving his body almost on a breath. "This is where I'm supposed to be, I think, and I'm _good_ at it." He pauses to sigh, emotion tightening at his throat. "I'm making a difference here, a _positive_ one. Who'd have thought I could do that… being what I am…"

It doesn't really seem to matter what he says, because Sirius still stares blankly ahead, until Remus almost whispers, "Harry is in my third year class." 

At that, Sirius stiffens, and turns his head quickly, eyes finding Remus' own immediately, searching them for something Remus can't figure out. He still doesn't speak, but lets out a strangled breath which shudders as it leaves him. 

"He's brilliant, love," he continues as Sirius watches his mouth, "He takes my breath away each time I look at him. Looks just like James, but his eyes… it's like Lily is looking back at me every class. It hurts a bit, actually…" He gives a reminiscent chuckle, "And he's smart as a whip. Much cleverer than we were at his age." He smiles softly down at the man sitting in the tub, "He's a great kid. Despite it all." 

Remus pauses to take in another long breath, and he notices that Sirius' shoulders are shaking, his hands having found their way to his face. He cries into his palms, hardly able to catch his breath, and it's then that Remus knows that Sirius is no murderer, no traitor. 

When he seems ready, Remus helps Sirius from the tub and wraps a large towel around him. As he does, he wordlessly casts a warming charm on it and as it settles around Sirius' skeletal form, he seems to pause to savour the sensation. For a moment, Remus allows himself to wonder at what awful things Sirius must have endured while he was locked up. The barely contained expression of bliss on his face -- the closest Remus had seen to it, anyway -- at the mere feeling of warmth on his skin spoke volumes to the werewolf. 

Remus turns to pick up the discarded clothing in the corner of the room, and when he turns around, it isn't Sirius standing in his bathroom, but Padfoot. Remus has been expecting it. He's surprised it took so long to happen, if he's honest with himself. Sirius always said that his thoughts were simpler, easier to manage as his canine counterpart, and Remus can't imagine what his human mind must look like. The dog is thin too, grey colouring his muzzle and the tips of his ears, but his eyes are the same as the creature who had once guided him through more tough full moons than he can count. He reaches out and fondly scratches the large dog behind his ear. He tilts his head, pressing it into Remus' palm, seemingly no longer afraid of the contact. 

"Stay," Remus murmurs, suddenly breathless at the string of memories the dog brings back, "Please." 

The dog lowers his head, a gesture for Remus to lead the way. He steps into the dimly lit bedchamber and wonders absentmindedly when the house elves had lit the lights. Padfoot's footsteps are slow behind him and for a moment, he swells with pride. This room, decorated in the deep red and gold of their beloved Gryffindor house, with the large fireplace and the overstuffed armchair in the corner, is his. 

Padfoot makes his way towards the armchair and has his front paws on it before Remus says gently, "Sleep here? Sleep with me?" 

The dog seems to ponder for a moment, then jumps down, slowly making his way to the bed and curling up on the rug beside it, pointedly glancing at Remus. He can read the glance well, and it translates in his head in Sirius' voice: _Hurry back then, Moony._

Remus ducks back into the bathroom and changes out of his robes and into the pyjamas he hangs on the end of the towel rack each morning. It all feels too normal, and he can hardly believe that Sirius is in the other room, waiting for him. He knows he should be afraid -- the man is a convicted murderer, after all -- but as he stares at his reflection in the mirror above the basin, he can't meet his own eyes as he says the words, "Sirius Black is a murderer." 

He's spent so long trying to convince himself that it was true. The better part of twelve years he's lived thinking that the man he loved was a murderer. The man who'd appeared in his office tonight was certainly no murderer, and he'd happily bet his last galleon on it. 

He runs the comb through his hair, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and hurries back into the bedchamber. 

With a brief glance at Padfoot, he turns down the covers and slots himself between them, laying his head on his pillow as the dog clambers up to lay beside him. Remus sighs, and curls his body around the dog's, and as he's about to let sleep claim him, he presses a gentle kiss just behind his ear. Padfoot whimpers, a sound which cuts Remus to his very core, and shuffles back against him. 

Remus sleeps better than he has in years, a dreamless sleep. He wakes now and again, expecting that the whole thing will have been a cruel dream but each time, his eyes land on that big black dog, still curled up next to him, and lets his slow, steady breathing lull him back to sleep. 

When his alarm sounds and Remus opens his eyes against the harsh morning sun streaming in through the window, he reaches out but finds nothing but empty bed. 

Next to him though, where Padfoot had slept, is a scrap of parchment, and on it, in almost familiar handwriting, is written:

_Thanks, love,  
Pads x_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much welcome. Pretty please feel free to let me know how I've done! <3


End file.
